The Pain Of Photography: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

After the pain of/
arctic blasts, hot boiled shrimp smells/
and feels delicious.

Advertisement

Uncut Pie: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

The pie’s prettier/
uncut, but it doesn’t taste/
nearly as yummy.

Not Hard Swiss Chard: Revolutionary ImproVerse Rhyming Haiku

It was not hard to/
grow Swiss chard, so why did I/
delay the harvest?

AND

Unknown Culinary Delight
Who knew, as the chard/
grew, what boiling, olive oil,/
lime and herbs would do?

AND

I Could Yodel, It’s Sooooo GOOD!
Italian herbs and/
seasonings meet Swiss chard for/
a Alpine taste treat!

AND
She’d Never Had Before
At 84, she’d/
never had Swiss chard before./
But now, she wants more.

Your Christmas Gift, Part 2: Revolutionary Blogging Poem

Read
my words.
Hear
my voice.
Remember
feelings
I wove
through your life
with thoughts,
touch,
smell,
sound,
taste,
and every
sensory
perception
possible.

Count the bubbles.
Feel the goo.
Recall how
you were lifted,
elevated,
made to feel
and laugh
again.

You’re gone:
Out of touch.
Out of reach.
But not out of mind.

So, this Christmas,
all I can give you
is what I gave you.
I only ask
that you
remember.

Enjoying Fruits Of The Land: Romantic ConTEXTing Haiku

During harvest time/
he wondered how his cheese would/
taste with her peaches.

Can I Handle The Touch? Romantic IMprov Rhyming Poetry

Can I handle the touch?

I think so,

for when you’ve craved something so much

you relish every bite,

every morsel and taste.

You never let lips take flight,

nor waste

the tender newness

and gentle caress

of what you’ve waited so long for,

sans haste.

Relish The World’s Tasty Treats: Revolutionary IMprov Haiku

The world’s most tasty/
treats are best relished when your/
eyes are fully closed.”

Tastes Collided: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Haiku

Tastes collided, like/
a chocolate tongue and sav’ry,/
moist lips, in my mouth.

The Taste Of You: Romantic ConTEXTing Haiku

The taste of you on/
my lips doesn’t go away/
although you left me.

Bad Meat Quatrain: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Poem

When pork tastes/
ick,/
it goes to waste/
and makes me sick.